Andrei Rublev (1966): A+
In watching “Andrei Rublev” again, trying to find an angle from which to review from was difficult. Here is the pinnacle achievement from one of my favorite filmmakers, one of the greatest films about art ever made, and yet, it doesn’t offer itself up to easy critical assessment…in words anyway. But as someone says early on in the film, “Only with true insight can you grasp its essence.” I guess that’s the mystery inherent with great art.
“Rublev” would be a staggering accomplishment on its’ own even if it weren’t the second feature film of its’ director, the Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky, who chose to follow up his acclaimed and award-winning debut “Ivan’s Childhood” with a 3 1/2 hour epic revolving around the famed Russian icon painter of the 15th Century.
But “Rublev”- both the film and the man- is difficult to pin down to easy characterization. Since not much is known of the real Rublev, Tarkovsky and his co-writer Andrei Mikhalkov-Konchalovsky take what is known of Rublev- mostly his professional accomplishments and little backstory- and instead paint a portrait of life in 15th Century Russia, with Rublev (played by Tarkovsky favorite Anatoly Solonitsin) acting as witness to significant moments of great accomplishment and greater tragedy, all the while looking for a way to understand the world through his art and remaining true to his faith. It’s not an easy balancing act for any artist. Throughout, however, we get the sense that Tarkovsky is also commenting on the things he witnessed in the modern day Soviet Union at the time; throughout his all-too-brief career (the last two of his seven films were made in exile in Italy and Sweden, respectively), his principles and his vision of what art should do got him in as much trouble with authority as Rublev had. Case in point, “Rublev” was so reviled by the Soviet authorities it didn’t receive a proper release until five years (and several cuts) later. Like Rublev, Tarkovsky had the last laugh in the end, as his films (like Rublev’s icons- some of which can be seen at the end of the film) and his career became symbolic of Russian art in the years to come.
I know his films spoke loud and clear to me when I first discovered them. Starting with his 1979 film “Stalker”, Tarkovsky’s work struck a chord with me as an artist and an individual. In watching his films, reading appreciations, and discovering his own perspectives of life and art (from his book “Sculpting in Time” and interviews with him on Criterion’s DVD of “Rublev” and the documentary “Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky”), something about his films and himself has resonated powerfully with me over the years, even inspiring me in my own artistic pursuits; I wrote a piece in 2002 called “Lost Souls, Guided by Hope” for trombone quartet and electronics inspired by “Stalker,” and this past year (2008) his artistic vision was the driving force behind my work of putting mine and other people’s music to conceptual visual ideas (which can be seen on my YouTube page).
More than anything, that inspiration artists find in their own is, in fact, the most significant thing I tend to take away from “Rublev.” This is especially true of its’ final third, when Rublev witnesses the casting of a bell in a small village. By this point, Rublev- having killed a man during the Tatar raid on the town of Vladimir- has taken a vow of silence and promised God never to paint again in atonement. He eventually finds himself back at the Andronikov Monastery- where he worked until summoned by Theophanes the Greek to work on the Cathedral of the Annunciation in Moscow- with a holy fool at his side, to remind him of his sin. A former rival Kirill also returns at this point- having suffered much in the secular world since he renounced his brothers at the Monastery in a fit of jealousy. But even kind words renouncing what he said back then isn’t enough to get Rublev to speak or create again. All the while, the peasants of a nearby village, led by the young Boriska (“Ivan’s Childhood’s” Nikolai Burlyaev), have been contracted by the Grand Prince to make a bell for the nearby cathedral. The Prince originally searches out his father, but Boriska convinces them of his abilities at bell-making now that his father’s dead, saying that he passed the secret of bell-making to him on his deathbed.
Immediately, as Boriska takes charge of the commission through his boldness and audacity, we sense that there’s something Boriska and Tarkovsky are not telling us. He seems to be leading them on a wild goose chase, using his conviction to swindle the Prince out of unnecessary funds and leading the bell-casters of the village to go to unnecessary lengths to make the grandest bell possible. As he watches, Rublev senses it too, and senses Boriska’s surprise at how well things are going. On the big day, suspense is high as to whether the bell will ring. When it does, it’s impossible to not feel the same joy and excitement the townspeople do with the accomplishment. So why is Boriska, this gung ho personality whose convictions drove this magnificent creation into being, crying after it tolls? The answer is an inspiration to Rublev, who consols the boy, and pledges that they both will go and do what they are meant to do.
This is the fundamental nature of faith and inspiration distilled to its’ essence. Like Rublev, Tarkovsky understands that only through great risk can artists lead others to great achievements. Whether we know all of the secrets of our trade is inconsequential at the end- what matters is the faith we have in our vision. This is why Rublev is unable to complete his commission of The Last Judgement early in the film- what the project asks of him cannot be reconciled with his artistic conventions in his soul- and this is what Tarkovsky’s film is ultimately about, not only the artist’s responsibility to the world around him but- in a much more profound way- his responsibility to his own artistic direction. This is why Theophanes the Greek chooses Rublev to invite to paint the Cathedral instead of Kirill, who is the one who approaches Theophanes. Kirill’s motivations for working with Theophanes are not for the betterment of art and the world it will reflect but for personal gains and public humiliation of his rival.
If the artist and his responsibilities to his art and the world are at the heart of “Rublev,” Tarkovsky has made sin- especially the sin of pride- equally important to his film’s narrative. In taking notes during the film (a rarity for me when reviewing a film, such as the complexity at work in this film), one of the things that struck me about the film is how the Seven Deadly Sins- and a few in particular- play a role in the film’s fascinating narrative.
A couple of the film’s major chapters stand out. Obviously, we see how pride and envy of Rublev leads to Kirill’s downfall in the Monastery and his inability to succeed in the secular world, but other key sequences resonate with the burden of sin and the consequences of giving into sin. Take the opening sequence, seemingly unrelated to the narrative of the rest of the film, where a man from a village climbs to the top of a church, and launches a medieval balloon into the heavens before crashing down to Earth after a brief flight. But in reality, this sequence is a parallel to the closing one with the bell casting, except where that act of hubris succeeded brilliantly, rewarding the risks taken, this early attempt at flight- when the world is not ready for it- brings a world down to Earth at the limitations of human endeavor.
Later on in the film, Rublev finds himself in the middle of Saint John’s Eve, a pagan ritual where participants get themselves naked to perform illicit acts of love with one another. For the monk Rublev, such carrying on is an example of pure lust, but in one moment, he’s sufficiently intrigued to gaze curiously on a couple in the throws of passion. For this slight against his own morality, Rublev inadvertently walks into a nearby fire, setting his robe ablaze, while he is later captured by the participants, who will not stand for this man of God’s self-righteous lectures.
But Tarkovsky’s ultimate triumph in “Andrei Rublev” lies not with its’ delineation of moral certainties, but the lasting conundrum of art and its’ place in society and how, in the end, even something as simple as a bell’s toll can inspire the greatest sense of joy in the human spirit. Regardless of his film’s unflinching realism and sometimes tragic human drama, it’s that unwavering sense of hope can survive even the most dire of circumstances.
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